Playing the Hand You're Dealt
by Charmedlovinit
Summary: Piper is on her way to Daryl to report Paige and Phoebe missing, when she meets an old woman and discovers sometimes it's easier to talk to strangers than anyone you know.


A/N: Another angst-fest, some time in the future (about seven years, I think)... and Piper centric. What more could you, the reader, want? Phoebe death? Well, read on, who knows WHAT you'll get!   
  
*  
  
Playing the Hand You're Dealt  
  
*  
  
Putting the receiver down, I looked thoughtfully towards the front door of the manor. Half smiling, I found myself hoping to see Prue come through the door. I felt of all the people I know, or have known, she was the one who would be able to make me feel better about recent events. Darryl had said I would have to go down to the station to file the missing persons report; so that's what I was going to do. Picking up the car keys from next to the phone, I turned and made my way outside.   
  
Driving, the latest noise passing for music playing, I wound down the window hoping the fresh air would clear my fuggy head. Again, Prue entered my thoughts, and suddenly I was six years old, jumping out of my bed, running across the carpet, fearful, alone needing reassurance when- a loud honking snapped me back. Jumping on the brake, I held up my hands in apology, knowing that I had pissed the other driver off. Eyes and head bowed, I waited until he had pulled out of the side street completely before pulling over for a moment. The last thing I needed now was to be involved in a car accident. Particularly since Leo is now mortal, and Paige is, well... missing. I have to think of her as missing; it helps. All at once, my breaths are short and rapid My left hand travels to my throat, as it seems that neck of my sweater is tight.   
  
"Oh god."  
  
The words have escaped my mouth and as the words break free so do the emotions. Head thrown back, the panic is rushing through my veins. The word 'missing' is repeating over and over in my head monotonous... yet loud; deafening, overwhelming.  
  
I seem to see myself with my minds eye, removed from these feelings and observing coolly. I'm now hunched over, both hands gripped onto the driving wheel, my arms visibly shaking with the force of my clenching. It looks as though I am experiencing that weird, powerful ache you feel in your abdomen when you are going through anything heart-wrenching. Do you know what I mean?  
  
'Whoa' I think, 'That's a whole lot of pent up emotion.'  
  
And then I'm experiencing again, rather than observing but now I am aware that too much is breaking free, and if I am to get this report filed, I have to calm down. Breathing in so deeply it hurts, I release my grip on the wheel and cover my face with my hands. It's wet. I didn't even realise I was crying.  
  
I jump out of my skin (which is almost a relief... It doesn't feel like my skin) as a woman, her face at the open window calls in:  
  
"Are you okay, can I... Can I help you?"  
  
Letting my hands fall away, I look at her and slowly nod. She's quite old, I'd say about 65. The years are etching their paths into her face and I wonder if she has ever had to experience what I am now. Watery eyes are made up with a blue eye shadow smeared on in a way all old women seem to consider the way it should be done. I find myself thinking at least she hasn't got pink, or worse, red lipstick on; which would be feathering out like tiny roots into the lines all around her mouth. I'm still nodding. How long have I been nodding? Stopping, I listen to my voice say:   
  
"Yes. Uh, thank you, I'm...I'll be fine."  
  
And watch as her concerned frown eases a little. Strange those words reassure her when they only make me feel worse. How can I possibly ever be fine again? And why does my voice not sound like it's mine? It's then that I notice the figure standing behind her, slightly to the right. He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him. Death has always been and always will be. It just wouldn't do if he started to look old. How fitting he should be wearing black.   
  
He says, "This woman's time grows short, talk to her. Tell her. It will help you heal."  
  
It was almost enough to make me laugh! "Advice from *you* on healing?"  
  
But before I could laugh, the woman - who is looking a cross between disappointed and angry - was saying, "Well, I offered you tea, not advice." She straightened her self up and turned to leave, muttering.   
  
Hasty apologies and affirmations that tea would be lovely... and yes, she was right, I was in no state to drive, led me to being sat in her living room whilst she was off in the kitchen making the tea. My nostrils flare momentarily as they take in the scent which is.. what is that? Old woman? Cat? It's hard to tell, as it's quite faint, but is there. Although the floral wallpaper is dated and slightly faded, this woman, whom I now know is named Elizabeth obviously takes pride in cleanliness. A framed photograph on the wall catches my eye; it's black and white, an image from some happy long ago time. 'A time before Death was due to visit either of our families' I reflect. Standing and moving towards the picture for a better look, a small smile plays upon my lips. It's Elizabeth, I'm sure, in her Sunday best, make-up on (which I bet is the same blue she uses today), seated in a tall backed chair. Standing behind her, looking most proud is a young dark haired man.   
  
"That's Reginald." states Elizabeth. Caught unaware, I swing around to face her, feeling as though I have been caught looking through her very personal things. Which is silly. It's just a photo.   
  
"I, uh, you make a great couple." I finally manage to respond.   
  
She is setting the tea things out on the table, with slow deliberate movements. It seems she approves of my response; she smiles and with a small nod concedes her agreement. Remembering who is waiting for her, I find myself wondering how it is she is going to pass over, and hope, that I won't have to witness it. Really, it's more than I can bear right now.   
  
"He was my angel." She explains.   
  
The irony is not lost on me, and despite myself, I am smiling. "I knew one of those too." I feel my features darken as I add, "But he changed."  
  
Elizabeth with all her years of experience and wisdom regarded me for a moment before softly replying that "Everyone changes." She gestures towards the couch, and starts pouring the tea, the obligatory milk and sugar questions posed and answered. She hands me a cup, on a saucer and I start stirring, vacantly staring ahead. This moment is feeling surreal. That one comment that 'everyone changes' was so incisive. Part of me begins to think she knows more about me than the fact that I like two sugars and a dash of milk in my tea. But it cannot be so. Can it? I realise that she has said something, but I am not sure what it was. I stop stirring and my eyes meet hers. The quizzical look on my face must say it all.   
  
"Do you want to talk about why you are so upset, dear?" she repeats, raising her eyebrows slightly. This movement draws my eyes to them, and I notice that she has pencilled them in. Strange that I am noticing all sorts of things which I wouldn't usually. Must be the stress.   
  
I quickly look down at my cup. It's certainly not in my nature to talk about my fears, my problems, even with loved ones... why would I change now? More to the point, talk to some strange old woman I don't know? Ok, so she may not be strange, but she's a stranger. Imagine how horrified I am to hear my voice beginning the story of what is troubling me, and observing the woman set her cup down and move further back into the chair by way of making herself comfortable.   
  
I heard myself recount the tale of my own 'angel', how he changed in an effort to make things work between us, but in reality, things just got worse. How, when push came to shove, he used information about my family, my life, to win the custody of our son. Just two weeks ago I was forced by law to pack up most of his clothes and belongings and hand him over. Just like that. The verbalisation had taken me back there... to that moment. Looking at his confused face as he glanced between Leo's beaming smile and the tears coursing down my cheeks. I did not cry again after that. Actually, I did, just once. When Leo announced that he was immigrating to England and took my only child with him. Part of me. The noises of torture pulled from the depths of my soul were truly petrifying. Who knew such pain existed? Not I. And I had lost my Mother, Grandmother and a Sister before that time.  
  
"In all honestly, I couldn't tell you much about the following days. I really... why don't I remember them?"  
  
"It's perfectly normal; it's natures way of protecting you. I too... lost a child. I understand that pain you are talking about. Jonathon was 12 when he died."   
  
Her eyes have that far off look people get when they are seeing something past long ago. In her mind, she is there again, and I feel momentarily ashamed that I lost my sanity over my child being on another continent. But the shame is quickly brushed aside. Is it that difficult to understand that my body made him from it's own components. He is flesh of my flesh and without him, I have a festering sore, which will not heal.   
  
"Oh." I looked down at my tea, "I'm sorry for your loss Elizabeth." I continued, not wishing to dwell on this old woman's pain. "Wyatt, he's not dead. But... my two sisters are." I breathed softly. "And at my hands."  
  
The old woman's eyes visibly widened as the shock of what she had just heard instantly registered, to be immediately replaced by a softer knowing look. Leaning forward and placing her hand over my knee, she patted softly as she reassured "Again, guilt is a natural response to death." A benevolent smile spread across her face as she said, "It's all part of the healing process."  
  
Standing sharply, I flicked my hands at her and fists clenched, screamed. When finally the scream subsided, I turned away from her. "I don't want understanding." I spat through gritted teeth, "I don't want to be told these are natural responses...I killed my sisters! No. No, old woman, this is no exercise in guilt. I made a pact. Wyatt will be returned to me, through the courts perfectly legally. Oh, why didn't I just do away with his father I hear you say?" Swiftly turning to face her I proceeded, "Do you realise the damage it does to a child to lose a parent at such a young age? NO? Let me tell you Elizabeth, I do know. I... I... could see no other option... I..." As quickly as the rage had bubbled to the surface, it faded. "I was trapped. I was dying inside' I mumbled. Briskly blinking back the tears which were stinging my eyes, I resumed my position on the couch. It wouldn't do to expose this woman to things which would confuse her, so shortly before she was about to be reunited with her son... maybe even Reginald if their love was true. As I looked at her, benevolent smile frozen in eternal understanding, I realised that my rantings had indeed shifted something inside me. Before un-freezing her, I decided to off-load a little more. "My sisters and I were pretty much an invincible witch team, believe it or not... but you know what? If I worked out how to kill them so quickly and easily it makes me wonder about the intelligence of demons. Sure, I had familiarity and the element of surprise on my side, but still... Cole had that too. I can't believe I just mentioned his sorry ass. You know, all it took was a spell to undo the immunity we have to each other's powers... and 'poof' just like that I blew them up. It's kinda something I do... just usually not...*to* them.' The animation drained from my voice as I realised I was sounding proud of myself. "I'm hoping they will understand" I added, realizing that I was chewing on my nail. Calmly folding my hands into my lap, I took a few deep cleansing breaths and was about to unfreeze her, when I became aware of Death in the room. "It's her time now?"  
  
"Indeed, it's time for this particular incarnation to disappear"   
  
"Ok, what? That didn't make much sense-"  
  
"It didn't?" queried Elizabeth. "To me, it seems perfectly understandable. I don't need this image anymore I will feel slightly more comfortable if I-" Elizabeth briefly shuddered, and there in the chair opposite me was Toroth, the Descendant demon I had bargained with just a few days ago.. "Show my true colours. And not a moment before time...that smile? Making my cheeks ache."  
  
My mind raced trying to comprehend. This was... not possible. I looked to Death, hoping that he would have some answers for me and my eyes fell on him just soon enough to see him shudder and become a replica of Toroth; if slightly shorter and somewhat younger looking.  
  
"I better get answers, and I better get them NOW" I shrieked, holding my hands ready to blow them up.  
  
"Oh, please. Do you seriously think we would risk this confrontation; this divine opportunity to torture you if we weren't immune?" grinned Toroth, "and one last thing, our pact? Null and void. Perhaps in your...state of mind? You missed the 'signed by the blood of the left hand' bit. Small print, Ms. Halliwell." Toroth turned to the other, and the glee on their faces was evident as they stifled laughter. "So much for demons lacking intelligence. Stupid witch." Snarled the smaller one, "All it took was the pain of losing a descendant...and hey presto, we have a way in. We don't even need to kill you. You've done that to yourself." A final satisfied looked was exchanged between them before they shuddered and disappeared. 


End file.
